


Just this once

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Silmarillion Prompts [24]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Humor, With apologies to Finarfin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To everyone's amazement (and consternation), Fëanor is pleased with his half-brother. This can't bode well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just this once

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. The prompt was "Fëanor and Fingolfin, one time when Fëanor thought Fingolfin wasn't such a terrible little (half)brother after all."

Passersby turned and stared openly, mouths gaping open unattractively. One pedestrian drew up so swiftly, craning his head around in disbelief as they passed, that he walked directly into a fruit cart, earning the ire of its vendor.

The foci of all the attention strolled sedately side by side, tall and elegant (though one was taller), handsome and noble-browed (though one was handsomer.)

It truly was an extraordinary sight: the two eldest sons of Finwë, walking together and having a wholly civil conversation. Nolofinwë’s hands were tucked into the sleeves of his robes, and he had his head bent slightly towards Fëanaro, who was strolling along with what was unmistakably a satisfied smile on his face.

_“What do you think it means?”_

_“An unstable truce, at best.”_

_“Perhaps it is a con?”_

_“On whose side?”_

_“Fëanaro’s, of course.”_

_“Hush, he might hear you!”_

_“Perhaps they have been drinking.”_

_“That can’t be. They only get worse when drink is involved! Don’t you remember the harvest festival when Nolofinwë got into his cups and thought it funny to trip Fëanaro as he passed, and the entire festival tent was nearly torn asunder?”_

Fëanaro’s grin widened a little as he picked up on these snippets of whispered conversation.

“We confuse them with our civility.”

Nolofinwë sighed. “I don’t blame them. Of all the things to make you tolerate me…”

“I have never been prouder.”

“It was an accident, honestly.”

“It doesn’t matter. I have never been happier. Well, perhaps when Curufinwë learned to walk a whole month before that clodpole of a second son of yours…”

“Fëanaro. Don’t ruin it.”

“…but what a  _delightful_  afternoon.”

Nolofinwë sighed. “It figures that your tolerance of me comes only with – ”

“Beauty and light.”

“ – he could have been badly injured.”

“He wasn’t. Ah, what a spectacle.”

“He’s not going to be speaking to me for a month, at least.”

“What glory. What transcendence.”

“It was an accident.”

Fëanaro smiled rapturously. “I never quite appreciated your finer qualities, brother…”

“ _Brother_?” Nolofinwë pulled up short.

“…until you set Arafinwë on fire. With a ceremonial taper. In front of the entire family. That swan-down fringe went up particularly impressively. Do you think his eyebrows will grow back any time soon?”

“No,” said Nolofinwë sadly.

Fëanaro wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him close. “I have never been prouder. Maybe we do share blood. Just a drop or two.”


End file.
